


Til My Fingers Bleed

by lost_spook



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who: Past Doctor Adventures - Various Authors, Kaldor City
Genre: 500 prompts, Community: hc_bingo, Gen, Mental Instability, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:03:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leela has no sympathy for Poul.  What she has to give is always more practical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Til My Fingers Bleed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liadt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/gifts).



> For Liadt in the [500 Prompts Meme](http://lost-spook.livejournal.com/300554.html) \- Prompt 008: 'Til your/my/her/his fingers bleed – Leela/Poul (DW/Kaldor City). Also for [](http://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/)**hc_bingo** square “panic attacks”.

“It is your own fault,” said Leela. “And do not move!”

Poul pulled his hand back, because there were only so many insults even he could take in a few minutes. “So you said before. Well, now you’ve fetched the medikit, I’m sure I can manage without your help.”

“Well, I am not.” Leela held onto the medikit and glared at him. “There is no point in sulking only because I spoke the truth. Now, I shall help you. It is easier that way.”

Poul sighed. Sympathy was apparently too much to ask for, even after the day he’d been having, which had compassed two murder attempts at least, being driven right out of his mind – again – and back in the other side, not to mention a flier crash, a near miss at falling to his death, and his entire society being also on the brink of collapse. However, since she was right about it being easier, he held out the hand that he had injured earlier, and let her set about cleaning and bandaging it. “Thank you,” he said, though he couldn’t keep out a petulant note.

“You could have killed the Doctor.”

Apparently, that was a capital crime as far as she was concerned. Poul sighed again. “You said that before, too.”

“I suppose you did not mean to,” she allowed, which he presumed was a magnanimous concession on her part. Then she gave him a sharp look. “I do not think you are at all well. You should see one of your own – your own medics.”

Poul bit back a laugh, afraid it would too easily turn to hysteria. See a MedVoc? “I think not. Therapy really didn’t help in my case.”

“What is… therapy?” She made the syllables sound alien, which was fitting. “It is a medicine of some kind?”

Poul shrugged. “In a way. Or apparently in some cases it’s a sustained attempt to drive the unfortunate patient even further out of his mind by a sociopathic mastermind working for people who think a robot revolution is an inspired way to seize power.”

“Then I do not think you should have any more of it,” said Leela, though it still felt as if she was telling him off. She relented a little, even if it was visibly an effort. “I am sorry, then. But I still do not think you behaved well!”

“People who only have one subject of conversation grow very tedious, _very_ quickly.”

Leela coloured. She didn’t seem to like the slight, even coming from someone she despised.

“Anyway,” said Poul, once she’d finished, “thank you. That is much better, you’re right.”

She didn’t move away. That Doctor of hers was busy talking to Uvanov and other people, so she had nowhere else to be yet. “And now that is all over you will get better help? Other medicine – or the- therapy?”

“Uvanov seems to think knowledge is the cure,” said Poul. “He may have a point.”

“I do not think that is an answer.”

He didn’t think it was, either. “I’m too tired,” he said. “Regardless of my behaviour, good or otherwise, it has been a very long day!”

“Then you may rest,” said Leela, still supremely practical. “Padil has shown me where their sleeping places are. I expect they are not what you are used to, but I will take you there.”

Poul shrank back from her. “No. Stop interfering!”

“I only said that –”

He shook his head. “I can’t yet. I daren’t. Forget it. Go away!”

“You are safe here,” said Leela, frowning. “You know that the mechanical men cannot come here. Or do you fear the Tarenists? I do not think they will harm you. They are all busy.”

“I _know_ it,” said Poul, with the echo of a smile. “I don’t seem to believe it, not yet. I suppose that’s my fault, too.”

“You put the Doctor in danger,” she said. “It was not well done.”

Poul got to his feet. “I panicked at the thought of falling from a tall building! I suppose you’re completely fearless.”

“Only fools have no fear,” said Leela. “And I am not a fool. But I fight my fear, I do not let it rule me!”

Poul raised an eyebrow. “What, always? You've never lost the battle yet?”

“You will rest,” said Leela, avoiding answering that, which was probably an answer in itself. “I shall keep watch. I am not tired, I am not hurt, and I will not let any creepy mechanical men near you.” Then, with an unexpected edge of humour: “And if I see any dangerous therapists I shall plunge my knife into their heart! Do not fear: I will not let you come to harm.”

It was oddly reassuring. She was only one small primitive, who could not stand against all the weapons and technology of his world, not alone, but where he could not accept mere knowledge, he believed her. He still wasn’t sure he could sleep, but the thought of trying was a little less terrifying. “No, I don’t think you would.”

“Then it is settled,” said Leela, and apparently it was.


End file.
